


Can You Hear A Pin Drop?

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Fix-It, HEX - Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Reconcilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon has been silent too long. He wants to talk to Blake and to atone, in any way Blake will accept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Hear A Pin Drop?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39043) by Zenia. 



(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"You did the right thing, Blake," Vila said, sitting down with a bottle of something that didn't belong on Blake's base.

"Did I?" Blake asked, idly. It was quiet, he thought. Oh, there were people all around him, but somehow, there was a silence. A gap, where there should have been one particular voice. Sharp, and clean, like the scent of mint. Precise as a laser scalpel. And just as painful.

"Yes." Vila nodded vehemently. "He tried to kill me. He kept setting us up to save his own skin. We're better off without him."

"Probably." Blake rose to his feet, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. "I'm sure he's better off without us."

"Dunno. Have you heard anything from Sarkoff?" Vila asked, not quite casually enough.

Blake leaned down and splayed his hands on the table before Vila. "Don't tell me you still care."

"I don't, really. I'm just curious."

"That can be dangerous, Vila." Blake left the recreation room. He hadn't been enjoying himself, but it was necessary to put on a show. He went back to his room, and lay in the dark, listening to the nothingness that was his life.

***

"And here," Blake said, pointing it out on the chart, "is where the first wave of the attack will be concentrated."

Tarrant nodded. Everyone else agreed in various ways that Blake's plan was wonderful. Blake listened for the voice that would point out the flaws, that would harass and nag until Blake perfected it, and even then, would most likely make his own unauthorized additions. But there was only silence. Blake rolled up the plan with a snap,and dismissed his followers.

***

The plan worked well enough. Oh, perhaps a few things were overlooked, but the battle was won.

There was another plan after that, and another. Some worked. Some didn't. But by and large, Blake was successful. It was easy to think in the silence. Easy to weigh the pros and cons of his actions. 

It was not so easy to sleep.

***

The first rebel alliance conference wasn't going too badly. The few quarrels over precedence had been settled without bloodshed. Somehow, all Blake had to do was walk into a room for quiet to descend. No one wanted to shout in his presence.

"Sarkoff is here," Tarrant said. 

Blake glanced at Tarrant, reading the message beneath the words. "Yes. The President of Lindor is an invaluable ally."

"He's not alone."

"Naturally. He has an entourage." Blake forced a smile. "Even I do."

"Avon is with him."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "In what capacity?" 

Tarrant blushed. "It seemed unofficial."

Blake nodded, while his stomach clenched and went cold. "An advisor."

"Yes," Tarrant agreed quickly. "Will you see him?"

"He's not my advisor." Blake turned and smiled at Ro's representative. Horizon was a valuable asset, not to be alienated by any lack of courtesy. Blake nodded, and smiled, and remembered all the names of the representatives, and their spouses and offspring. Fortunately there was a separate compartment in his mind for Roj Blake, the rebel, as Roj Blake, the man was totally uninterested in this game.

Even before he saw him, Blake _knew_. His stomach flipped once more before he could convince it to behave itself. "President Sarkoff," Blake murmured, holding out his hand in greeting.

"Blake." Sarkoff took Blake's hand in both of his, and held it while he looked deeply into Blake's eyes. "I had hoped to say how well you look, but you don't."

Blake smiled. "Is it diplomatic to say so?"

Sarkoff laughed. "No. I'm afraid I've been listening to my advisor. He's quite a breath of fresh air after all those years of listening to Federation propaganda."

"Certainly different," Blake murmured politely. He hadn't looked at the silent shadow at Sarkoff's side. Hadn't noticed that Avon was thinner, and had gray starting at the temples. No, Blake hadn't seen any of the care-lines in the creases beside Avon's eyes, and the weary way his mouth-- that mouth-- turned down.

Being an _advisor_ must be more difficult than it looked.

"And of course you know..." Sarkoff pulled Blake with him, with a grip that could not be refused short of main force, "my advisor."

"Kerr Avon," Blake said, nodding that precise inclined inch that one uses with passing acquaintance.

"Blake," Avon said, and the depth and hollowness of his voice struck an inner chord in Blake. "Roj," Avon whispered. His eyes were suddenly the only things Blake could see in the crowded room. They were speaking to Blake, and the one word they said was a lie.

Blake was furious. "No."

"I need to speak to you, Blake. In private." 

Tarrant was behind Blake now. Blake ordered, "Get him out of here."

Tarrant replied, "It wouldn't look good to drag him out kicking and screaming."

"He'll go quietly," Blake said.

Avon shook his head slowly. "No, I won't. I made that mistake once and have lived to regret it this past year, three months and sixteen days- that's Lindorian time. It wasn't as long for you, perhaps."

Blake whirled. "There is a private room this way. I can let you have five minutes to say whatever you have in mind." He strode off without looking to see if Avon followed.

He had never had to look to see if Avon followed.

 

The door shut and Blake turned and froze. Avon was holding a small, transparent object. It wasn't a laser probe.

"How did you get that weapon past security?" Blake asked, as he tried to decide whether it would be better to charge now, or to distract.

"I built it to pass security." Avon gave Blake a small smile. "It's not exactly my field, but I had time to learn. It holds three shots." He reversed his grip on the gun and held it out to Blake.

"What are you playing at?"

"No game. Take it. Shoot me three times."

Blake took the gun and examined it. It seemed functional. He aimed at Avon's head. "I won't need more than one."

Avon smiled. "That would be a kindness. Thank you."

Blake held the gun until his arm trembled. Avon never flinched or blinked. Blake lowered it slowly, until he was pointing at Avon's belly. "Perhaps here. It hurts worse, there."

"I know," Avon said quietly.

"Or." Blake moved close to Avon, so close he could see tiny sparkling gold specks within the brown of Avon's eyes. He pressed the gun against Avon's groin. "I could make certain you'd never want anyone again."

Avon's head moved slowly in a negative shake. "No. I'd still want you. So long as I lived, I'd want you."

"I could kill you," Blake said softly.

"If it would not distress you too much," Avon replied, "then do it."

"And ruin my alliance? Oh, no, Avon, I won't destroy myself for you."

"There is a note in my luggage. It will explain my reasons for wishing to commit suicide in front of you. I admit it will be somewhat embarrassing for you, but I've made it quite clear that you are in no way at fault." Avon swallowed. "I almost did it myself, but I wanted to see you one last time."

"You bastard. I hate you." Blake's voice was shaking.

"Yes," Avon said, hopelessly.

"I hate you so much, it would almost be worth it to kill myself, and have them blame you."

Avon's eyes went wide. "No," he said softly. "not that. I've lived with your death too long."

"You didn't kill me."

"Yes, I did. I killed the human Roj Blake, the one who cared too much and loved too much. I've... had reports."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "Your crew."

"Vila. He said... he said..." Avon abruptly ran out of words, but the look on his face spoke for him.

Blake gripped Avon's chin and pulled his head back. "And in your arrogance, you assumed that offering yourself to me would make all the difference? Do you think it would make me happy to have you serving penance?"

"I didn't know what else to offer."

Blake released Avon, spinning him away with a shove to fall on his side. Blake threw the gun to the floor. "You are a pathetic, shallow imitation of a man."

"Yes." Avon was making no move to get up, but simply staring at Blake. "If I could, if I knew how, I would cry. Would that help?"

Blake groaned, and fell to his knees. "No. I know how to do that well enough for the both of us." 

Tentatively, Avon sat up, reached out and gathered Blake into his arms. Blake moaned and pressed his head against Avon's chest. After a long moment he said, "I can hear your heart beating."

Avon kissed the top of Blake's head. "No, you don't. I lost mine years ago. What you hear belongs to you."

And Blake smiled as he listened to the sound of new life.

**Author's Note:**

> As the President of HEX (Happy Ending eXpeditors, a phrase coined by Nova) I had often (with pre-approval) written positive ending sequels to other author's downbeat endings on the adult Blake's 7 mailing list. (Heck, I'd HEXed canonical episodes, too- B7 was BLEAK so there was plenty of temptation to fix things.)
> 
> In December of 2001 we were commemorating (by writing fic) the twentieth anniversary of the airing of the final episode of Blake's 7, which was the most downbeat, heartbreaking (in an awesome way) series ending. This naturally led to a lot of downbeat ending fics, and my friends generously let me sequel them. I tried to make each of mine actually work as a standalone, but of course they work better if you read the inspiration, too.


End file.
